


Anterograde

by Anonymous



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Feelings Realization, Final Battle Against Hawkmoth, Gen, Heavy Angst, Identity Reveal, Revelations, Ultimate Sacrifice, and the laws of nature itself, author felt brave and decided to challenge the complexities of the miraculous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Eventually, the truth had to come out. Each one has their own story, leading to final choice that ends all the charades.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Emilie Agreste & Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15
Collections: Anonymous, October 2020 - Dark





	1. Prologue

Lightning pierces through the skies like a knife driven in anger, snapping the air as if the heavens were to split apart. All of Paris could hear the thunder rolling in unbridled fury, tumbling through the ashen clouds that spread into the night.

There’s an ear-splitting sound, as the rain relentlessly strikes down like an endless salvo of bullets, splattering, forging streams through the earthen sludge like meandering rivers. It crashes into the streets, cascading along the tattered stone steps, flooding the ruined fountains of the Trocadéro. 

Howling through the city streets is the wind — the trees sway in the gust, surrendering their autumn leaves with no restraint. They writhe and flail, their groans of pain carried away by that same wind. 

Yet none of nature’s fury could drown the wails of one soul kneeling helplessly in the storm, its cries rivaling the thunder’s roar, its anguish pouring out into the rain. Its arms hold a figure in tight embrace, rocking it slowly as both tears and rain soak into its chest. The grief must have come in waves, the sobs broken apart by short pauses for recovering breaths, pulling away to see the other’s face. Fingers twine into golden locks as their tips trace its cheek, eyes closed as if lost in endless sleep.


	2. Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Within it lay a woman clothed in white, her hair neatly combed to the side, palms folded on her lap. She had hair that shone like his, features that mirrored his own. Her eyes were closed shut, but Adrien knew they would be a brilliant green. If she could smile, it would be breathtaking, just as he remembered. If she could speak, it would sound full of love, just as he dreamed. He presses his hand against the glass, equal parts desperate and afraid, and a tremulous breath escapes his lips. 
> 
> “Mom.”

“In many cultures, butterflies are known to be a symbol of death.” 

Adrien Agreste straightens back up in his seat, scribbling into paper the words he managed to catch. Pretty sure he heard something about butterflies. He stifles a yawn, blearily rubbing at his tired eyes with the insides of his palms. Adrien stares down at his notes, trying to make out the chicken scratch writing and the drool that he comes to realise is actually his. He squints closer. 

_Metamorphs._ Might’ve misheard something. _Camouflage_. That could make sense. _Shoot after this._ No idea what that means. _Die._ When did this class get so ominous. _Deth._ He wanted to slap himself.

“Particularly, black butterflies are considered to be a grave omen,” Miss Bustier drones on, her voice faint to his ears. “It’s seen as a warning of an imminent death or perhaps a sign of death if found in one’s home.” 

Adrien slumps back, raking his fingers through his tossed blond hair. He can’t help it, his mind was drifting away by itself. He lets his head lean a bit to the side, and it only takes seconds for his heavy lidded eyes to glaze over again, nodding off into a snooze.

“...And that’s it for today. Class dismissed.” The teacher snaps a book shut, and Adrien wakes up like a cat dropped in ice-water, eyes taking on a wild look as he looks around for danger.

Then he realises, and mentally facepalms. The late-night patrols were really doing wonders for his brain.

He gathers his things up into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder; but he barely makes a step when he feels a sharp nudge to his chest and sudden warm seeping into his skin.

“Oh, I’m sorry Adrien!” a certain brunette exclaims, face apparent with regret. The boy presses his lips into a grimace, and tries to smooth it out into a hint of a smile. “It’s fine, Lila.”

“Adrien, are you okay?” A worried voice pipes up from behind. 

Eyes all scrunched up in a frown, Marinette approaches his sorry state. “This is no good. It’s all over the shirt.” The raven-haired teen clicks her tongue in distaste as she touches the stain, leaning down to closely inspect it. “Coffee stains are quite a pain, but I might be able to fix it.”

Adrien’s heart warms at the gesture. He expected nothing less from his everyday Ladybug. “Thanks for offering your help, Marinette.” He tilts his head low to match her level, giving her a grateful smile.

Marinette backs off quickly, her cheeks flushing a tint of red. Adrien still wonders why she does that when he comes near. “N-no problem, A-Adrien-” she mumbles out “I just need to get some house from my stuff, I mean, stuff my from-“

“Don’t you have a photoshoot after class today, Adrien?” Lila cuts in, a sly grin etched on her face.

Adrien’s eyes narrow at her words, but soon widen in horror as the thought clicks. _Shoot after this_. The blond presses a palm to his forehead. He definitely _does_ have a shoot today, and if he stays here any longer, he’s going to be dead late. 

“How did you even know that, Lila?” he hears Marinette ask.

“Well, if you haven’t caught on yet,” Lila simpers, walking towards him, “Adrien and I are actually great friends.” she states, placing an arm over his shoulders. The brunette tuts. “You wouldn't understand Marinette, see, Adrien and I do a lot of stuff together, like doing photoshoots, _together_. So I’m aware of his schedules, we’re _that_ close.” 

Adrien sees Marinette’s face fall, and he feels a weird tug in his chest. 

“That’s enough, Lila.” he warns, his voice low and deep. Perhaps she needs to be reminded. “Marinette is my friend.” 

“When did I ever say she wasn't?" she retorts back, voice low and sickeningly sweet. “But your father won’t be too pleased if you arrived late, and it wouldn’t look good either if Gabriel Agreste’s son showed up to the set with a messy stain, wouldn't it?”

The young model presses his eyes shut, holding himself back. Lila Rossi was really pushing his buttons today, and a sleep-deprived Adrien Agreste didn’t help the cause either. He opens his eyes once again, and they fall to bluebell ones that seem to dim fast.

He breathes out a sigh. "Marinette," 

Adrien takes a step forward, shaking off the arm slung over his shoulders. "As much as I would like to take on your offer, I think I should just drop by my house to change instead.” He searches her eyes, offering a smile. “Besides, I trust Nathalie would probably know what to do. She hasn’t failed me yet.” 

For a second, it seemed as though Marinette had stopped breathing, and Adrien began to worry that he did something wrong.

“O-okay,” she slowly nods. “If you say so, Adrien.”

He feels his chest ease up, and waves a goodbye as he heads out of the door.

"That was some good thinking over there,” a voice praises him from his bag. 

He shrugs. "Lila gets on Marinette's nerves a lot. She might get in trouble again if she acts on Lila's provocations. I don't like seeing my friends hurt." 

"Yeah, yeah. Pigtails is your friend, blah-blah." A tiny black head pops out from the bag. "I didn't mean that nonsense! I meant, that was some good thinking, choosing to stop by your house. That way I can stop by to get more Camembert!" the kwami cackles in glee.

Adrien rolls his eyes. “Because of your stupid cheese I smell horrible, Plagg.” he sniffs his shirt, face turning sour. “Caffeine and Camembert do not mix well.” Adrien chucks the creature into the pocket of his overshirt as he gets in the car, silently praying that he’ll have just enough time to change and make it for the photoshoot.

Adrien arrives at the manor, rushing out as soon as the car pulls in. The young Agreste runs up the steps while the autumn breeze grazes his cheeks, carrying fine drops that promise of the rain to come. 

He hastily approaches the door, all while he hears a hum by his chest. _"Camembert, Camembert, ooh, my lovely, lovely Camembert-"_

"Shh, Plagg. I'm going to see Nathalie before we do anything else." The singing halts, along with a grunt in response. Adrien chuckles, and reaches for the door handle.

But as soon as his hand touches its steel hold, he instinctively snatches it back, an unfamiliar chill prickling his skin. "That's weird." he mutters.

Undaunted, Adrien pries the door open once more, and crisp air welcomes his presence. Sudden unease fills him, a sensation that was supposed to be foreign in his own home. He shakes off the feeling and heads for his father’s studio, where Nathalie usually was. 

Adrien was never too keen on visiting his father’s workspace, and as he grew older, he found less and less reasons to even try. The last time he came in unwarranted, he stumbled into things he wasn’t supposed to see, secrets he wasn’t supposed to know. Adrien winces at the memory, and approaches the ivory doors to knock. However, his intentions fall short as his knuckles brush the door and it easily swivels open, unlocked.

He hesitates, uncertain of the situation that had presented itself.

Throughout his years, Gabriel Agreste’s atelier was known to never leave its door open, not even a sliver, not even an inch, much like the doors of his heart. He stands by the door and takes a deep breath. “Father?” No reply. Adrien pokes his head in, “Nathalie?” he calls out, glancing at her desk by the wall. She isn’t there. No one is.

Seeing that the room is empty, Adrien tries to push his curiosity aside when, out of nowhere, he hears a rustle inside the room. He dashes in, only to find the drapes fluttering slightly in the breeze. Adrien turns to leave, but then his steps skid to a halt when the realization catches up to him. _Breeze?_ He looks back to the curtains, and to the windows closed shut. They’re always shut. _Then where was it coming from?_

"Adrien, it's so cold.”

As soon as he hears the kwami’s whispered whines, the chilling air pierces his skin, sinking into the marrow of his bones like wet concrete. He’d been so distracted earlier in his pursuit that he didn’t even notice. But now with all his attention called to it, he feels it in full force. Plagg was right. It’s so cold, unreasonably cold. 

Adrien looks around to find the source, to the left, to the right, even up above. Nothing. Then he looks down. There it was, a fine, cold mist snaking around the floor. His eyes trail to its source, and it leads him back to the draperies, to the small vapor clouds gathering below.

He walks towards it, and Adrien finds himself in between the drapes, where the portrait of his mother stands as its centerpiece. His fingers brush the canvas, remembering what lies on the other side. "I shouldn't be here," he whispers, shaking his head and taking a step back.

In an instant, Adrien feels the cold creep in under his toes, a violent chill biting through his skin as if it were his bare feet upon the icy floor rather than his well-worn sneakers.

He kneels down and presses his hands to the floor, fighting back a hiss from the freezing contact. His hands graze the surface as he follows the coldness, feeling slight indentations that run around to the middle. Adrien gives it a gentle tap, and a hollow sound reverberates back.

"Plagg,” he whispers. “Can you check out what’s under this?” 

A muffled sound speaks up. “No.” 

“Come on,” Adrien chides. “I think there must be a broken heater underneath here or something.”

He hears the kwami mewl pitifully. “Then call someone to fix it. Why does it have to be you? Let’s leave and get my cheese upstairs instead.”

Adrien flips his jacket shirt open, peering in. “What if I buy you a week’s worth of cheese later?”

“I’m going to freeze into an ice cube if I go down there.”

“Two weeks?”

The chaos incarnate blinks. And then huffs. “You'll owe me three weeks worth of Camembert, Adrien."

The black creature slowly floats out of his shirt, its arms folded around its tiny body. “The first two is for making me do this, and the third one is for stuffing me into your shirt that smells like liquid garbage.” 

Adrien rolls his eyes. “It’s called coffee, Plagg.” 

“Is there a difference?" The kwami shrugs as it darts through the dark marbled floor. 

A few seconds pass and the floor whirrs as Adrien feels the gears turn underneath his feet. He braces himself, but he wasn’t expecting the tile he was standing on to descend abruptly, causing him to stumble down and crash into a hard, cold surface. 

_Ouch,_ he groans, chest flat on the ground. He feels the cold seep through his bones, ever-insistent. _Down here's worse, now it's not just a tile, the entire floor’s cold._

He quickly helps himself back up, eager to part with the floor. _Perhaps saying cold is an understatement,_ Adrien thinks to himself. He could still feel the chill licking at his face, its gentle touch piercing like needles. The floor was like an ice sheet in the Arctic, the air frosty as a winter night.

Adrien tries to take in his surroundings, and his efforts come to no fruition. Mist hangs in the air like a veil, obscuring his sight, looming over him in its whitened haze. He could only glimpse a glow coming from the other side.

Adrien wades through the fog, following the light ahead. “I wonder what's over there.” he mutters as he comes closer, grasping at steel bars that lead him further in.

He soon spots the kwami a few steps ahead, the floating creature's back turned from him. "What's over there, Plagg?" he asks teasingly, "I hope this isn't the cheese freezer you've been hiding all along."

He waits for the snarky response. It never comes. 

“...Plagg?”

Adrien takes a step into the light, revealing a sight he would never forget. 

Trees were lined around a small isle, their roots snaking down under. Their bark had some sort of creeping mildew, and their leaves curled in an unusual way. In the center, there stood a glass case glistening in the sunlight, bouncing off a glare that Adrien had to look away from. His eyes fall to the flower beds nestled by the case. They bloom in bundles, white spheres that seemed to hold tiny petals shaped like butterfly wings.

He finally reaches his kwami, feet skipping to his side. “What's with the silence, Plagg? Cat got your tongue?” 

But it seems that his voice fell flat on the kwami's ears, its eyes transfixed on the glass. Uneasy, Adrien follows Plagg's gaze, inching closer to get a better look. “What are you...” 

He shouldn't have looked.

When he saw the tiny crack of an opening by the doors of his father's atelier, he should've left it alone. When he heard the sound of the drapes, he should've walked out of the room. When he felt the chill on his feet, he should've shook it off. When he fell down to the chamber, he should've clawed his way back up. When he saw the glass case, he should've looked away. His own words from earlier echo back, _he shouldn’t be here._

But now, it’s too late, as he looks down on what he thought was a mere glass case and sees it for what it truly is — a casket.

Within it lay a woman clothed in white, her hair neatly combed to the side, palms folded on her lap. She had hair that shone like his, features that mirrored his own. Her eyes were closed shut, but Adrien knew they would be a brilliant green. If she could smile, it would be breathtaking, just as he remembered. If she could speak, it would sound full of love, just as he dreamed. He presses his hand against the glass, equal parts desperate and afraid, and a tremulous breath escapes his lips. 

“Mom.”

Adrien’s knees collapse onto the ground. He heaves, the crisp and sharp air filling his lungs to bursting, breaths of white vapor puffing out. There’s a horrible hollow feeling in his chest, and then all at once it’s filled with buzzing. Buzzing. Buzzing. Buzzing. It blares in his chest, it deafens his ears. He looks into the glass and sees droplets trickling down his face. _I’m crying,_ he realises. _Why am I crying?_ He sees his broken reflection, looks himself in the eye, his confusion and loss mirrored back at him. Adrien feels sick to his stomach. He doesn't know what to do.

A tiny hand hastily tugs at his shirt. "Adrien, we have to go, its-"

They hear a distinct whirr, and the kwami quickly hides in his shirt.

Adrien hears heels clacking as it strikes the steel floors, tapping a familiar cadence. He looks back and sees a figure approach. It’s a face all too familiar, with pale skin and deep-set eyes, hair tainted dark with a scarlet streak. 

"Nathalie?” he asks, and his voice comes out small.

"Hello, Adrien." she greets, her face as passive as ever. "In truth, I would not have preferred for you to find out this way."

He feels the buzzing in his chest tighten into a knot, emotions building up inside. "You knew about this? What has my father been up to?" he demands sharply. Adrien looks back at the glass, and it threatens to overwhelm him again. "Has she been here all this time?"

He stares into her eyes, burning with anger, and yet she just purses her lips, holding his fevered gaze. “Answer me!” he cries out. 

As if unnerved by his outburst, Nathalie paces around the garden as she answers. "Your father has only done what was best."

"What was _best_?" he whispers, hoarse. "All of you told me she was _gone._ ”

Adrien weeps, tears trickling down the grass like dewdrops. “He said she was no more,” he continues, his breath hitching, “That I didn't even have the chance to say goodbye.”

"That's because there was no need for you to say goodbye." 

Adrien's sobs slowly eases to a halt. "What do you mean?" 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a white butterfly emerge out of the flowers that lay by his feet.

"Your father has only done what was best." Nathalie echoes. “He has always done so, and he always will.”

She watches his pained expression, and then looks away as she holds up her fingers as the butterfly lands to sit, reveling in her touch. "What do you think of Hawkmoth?" she asks, as the winged insect flies away from her grasp.

"Hawkmoth?" he repeats, perplexed. "What does he have to do with this?" 

"Everything."

Adrien meets her eyes, desperately searching for more answers. They hold each other's gaze until it breaks — the butterfly comes into view, flimsy wings fluttering in irregular, slow beats. 

"Hawkmoth,” she looks at the butterfly, misty tufts seeping from her lips, “is the man who oversees Paris everyday, looking into each and every one's hearts to grant vengeance to those who were wronged.”

The butterfly drifts closer to Adrien, and he feels a surge of familiarity as he spreads out his palm to catch it. Shaking his head, Adrien stares back at Nathalie with a steely gaze. "Hawkmoth takes advantage of people's despair, turning them into tools of revenge. In return, he asks for Ladybug and Chat Noir's items, the heroes' source of power."

Nathalie lips turn into a wry smile. "Miraculous." she corrects. "The items are called Miraculous. Magical jewels inhabited by divine beings of power, known as kwamis."

Adrien feels a shudder underneath his shirt. He notices his palm turn ice-cold, and he finds the butterfly fading away, its feeble wings fluttering for the last time. Dread creeps over him like an icy chill, numbing his brain.

"Do you want to know why Hawkmoth wants Ladybug and Chat Noir's miraculouses?" she asks, breaking his reverie.

In its frozen state, his mind offers only a single thought. _It can't be._

“The jewels of creation and destruction.” Nathalie speaks to the darkness, her voice laced with contempt and awe. “They exist in eternal balance, resting on the scales that shape this world. Intangible, you might think. But it is not.”

Nathalie steps closer to the casket, pressing her palm on the glass. “Two pieces of a whole. Together, they shape reality. And with it, reality can be built, as much as it can be destroyed.” 

She kneels down to face him, her hands reaching out for his.

“Adrien, whoever holds both controls the power in their hands. To bend reality to obey their wishes. The power to grant anyone's wildest dreams."

She grasps his hands and looks him deep in the eyes. “Do you want her back?”

He freezes completely as the words leave her mouth, and it drains all his hopes, dreams, and feelings from within, replacing them with a clawing pit of despair, hopelessness and most of all, _fear_. Finally, Adrien realises why he was crying earlier. Why he was still crying now. He’s afraid. Because he knew what he wanted. And now he knows what it would take. The thought cuts through his heart, wraps around his brain. The mist swirls at the edges of his mind, drawing him into Nathalie’s cold arms, salty tears spilling over onto his cheeks. His cries choke the breath from his lungs and leaves his body heaving, desperately trying to rid himself of all this. 

“No,” he manages to breathe out, breaking away. “I can’t do this.”

Nathalie tries again to hold his hand, only for him to draw it back. "You must understand, Adrien, your father is only doing what’s best for your family." she explains. “Ladybug and Chat Noir, they would never understand what it's like to lose someone you love. Don't you want to be with your mother again?"

He could feel his resolve fall apart. “I... can’t-I... don’t-“

Adrien pushes her away, and he runs, runs and runs, out as far as he can, tears falling as the drizzling rain brushes his cheek.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and Adrien feels the cold, crisp air gently blow through him, the chill in his bones almost familiar now. Raindrops and tears mingle on his face, salty tracks blending into fresh sky-fallen trickles. Only the redness of his eyes would give away a hint of his sadness, and this city, who would expect the lonesome boy sitting on a desolate park bench in the middle of the pouring rain to be the one and only Adrien Agreste? _The press would have a field day with this,_ he laughs spitefully at the thought. 

"Are you okay, Adrien?" Plagg asks, hiding under his shirt, voice full of concern. “It’s better if you take slower breaths.”

He hadn’t realised that he was still panting. "I'm fine. Just eat your cheese, take a little nap. I don’t think we’ll be going home soon.” Adrien tucks his shirt tighter to keep the creature warm, but in truth, he just couldn’t bring himself to meet the kwami’s eyes.

He had run aimlessly throughout the city, finding himself swept up in the crowds, in the middle of the road, along the sidewalks — pretty certain someone had recognised him off the street — Adrien had gone anywhere and nowhere. But his feet soon brought him to Place des Vosges, for some reason he couldn’t place. Perhaps it’s because his car passes through so often; or perhaps it’s because he’s seen it too many times from a particular balcony view. He glances at its direction and he wonders if the rooftop’s hatch would welcome him. The blond pushes the thought aside, as the owner seems to never be comfortable with Adrien, preferring Chat instead.

Soon, the light pitter patter of rain turns into wet thuds, the icy water racing to meet the ground. 

He’s lost the strength to stand, the urge to think. Conflict boils inside him, unable to find a line between himself. He is Adrien Agreste, a son who yearns for his mother; yet he is also Chat Noir, a hero who holds reality in balance. He feels defeated, hope lost on him. Adrien closes his eyes as he looks up to the pouring rain, tasting the raindrops on his lips. Slowly, his consciousness slips away, losing himself to the white noise, the remaining threads of rationality breaking apart. 

Then suddenly the endless shower stops, and the ghost of his eyes glimpses a hint of a shadow. He opens them, and his eyes meet the bluebell orbs that filled his dreams. _It’s as if they shared the same eyes._

"Adrien, what's wrong?"

He takes in the sight. Marinette stands in front of him, holding a black umbrella over his head. He could see her flushed cheeks, droplets trickling down from her raven hair; he realises she must’ve rushed down to meet him. Marinette reaches out her hand to brush his cheek, and now Adrien wonders if he’s actually in a dream. 

He has nothing else to lose, and so he revels in it.

"Princess," he whispers, "I'm so afraid."

An autumn breeze passes by, bristling the tree branches while its leaves flutter down to earth like a colorful rain. She takes a breath, and tries to find the words to say.

"Why?"

"I'm afraid she'll never trust me again." he sighs. "She'll probably hate me. Worse, she'll stop being my friend." Adrien frowns, a thought coming to his head. "Will you stop being my friend too?"

He sees her hand curl around the handle."Who... is she?"

"She is _my lady._ ” he responds, eyes fixated afar. “She’s my partner, my best friend."

From the corner of his eye, he sees Marinette close hers, her head shaking in indignation. "Then why would she even hate you?"

He forces out a smile, trying to mask the fear that's tearing him apart. It’s tearing down his spirit, running through his veins like poison, killing off all his other emotions until it's only one left. Truthfully, Adrien wants to feel anger, from his father's lies. He wants to feel sadness, from seeing his mother again. He wants to feel anguish, from finding out the truth. But all he feels is fear, from knowing what could happen next. _To lose her,_ it would be as if a mist had settled upon him and refused to shift, and no matter how bright the day was he would feel no sun and hear not the butterflies flutter — for the world would then be lost to him and he knew of nothing that would bring it back into focus.

"I betrayed her." he whispers. "It turns out I've been on the other side after all."

"What do you mean?"

"Today, I found out my father is the enemy, the one I've fought so hard against." his words leave a bitter taste in his mouth, letting it all out. "He fights for a cause, for a wish that I also share."

Adrien hears a sharp intake of breath. "And you think I— _she_ , would hate you for that?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. She always does things for good, fighting for everyone's sake." he recounts, a wistful smile to his face. "I'm just a partner to her after all. Replaceable. Work friend. She would try to take me down in a heartbeat, once she finds out. She doesn't feel anything for me, anyway."

The umbrella falls to the ground. "Adrien, I—"

"I'm going to be alone again, aren't I?" he looks up to the sky, feeling as the rain once again washes away his tears.

"You'll still have me."

He glances down, and he sees Marinette on her knees, hands clutching his, and her earnest gaze burns into him. 

“Don’t cry. My heart hurts when I see you sad.” 

He frowns. “This really feels like a dream. Marinette wouldn’t be like this, she can’t even hold Adrien’s hand. She wouldn’t cry for me.”

She shakes her head. “This isn’t a dream.”

He feels his heart skip a beat. Yet a thought needles it way into his head. “Then why do you never act the same with Adrien like you do with Chat?”

“It’s because—”

“Don’t answer that. Not now. Not yet.” He rises up to his feet, looking into the stormy clouds at bay. “But did you mean it though?”

“Mean what?”

"That you’ll still have me." He holds out his hand.

She smiles, taking it. “Always.”

"Then I'll hold on to it," he smiles back, for the first time since this all started, pulling her up to his chest. “I hope you’ll still mean what you said tomorrow, Marinette. Maybe I’ll listen to you answer that question a while ago. Or not. I just hope you’ll come to like me as much as the cat.” _Because he might not be coming back._

He feels something rustle in his chest. “I have to go, there’s a friend I need to attend to.” Adrien presses his lips to her cheek. “See you.”

Adrien turns away as he walks off in the soft rain, small pellets of water bouncing off the grass, as the remainder of the drops quench the scattered puddles along the pathwalks.

Even the rain looks beautiful in the clouded sunset as the sunbeams shoot through layers of grey cloud, painting the water fountains of the Trocadéro in the last rays of the dying sun. 

Chat Noir's eyes drift to the horizon — the sky has turned to a muddled, red-violet-tinged grey, the scarlet glow fading fast. It hasn't been long since he arrived, but it feels as though time passes by so quickly, the colors no longer the same when he came in, and he himself no longer the same school boy who just wanted to sleep in.

Now, he's just a shadow behind the columns of the Chaillot, waiting for a certain red-clad lady to come by.

He watches as endless droplets fall from the dull sky, the wind starting to howl in a low pitch and the trees of the garden begin to sway along. Thunder hums ominously from above, and he assumes it would take no time for the lightning to join in.

The sun sinks, and like clockwork, she arrives, and he has never seen such a wondrous sight. 

Ladybug graces the steps of the stone roofs of the far left wing, setting herself down on the edge that looked over the city. Her bluebell eyes glisten even against grey skies, her raven hair falls perfectly while raindrops trickle through. 

He yearns to see her closer; and with his staff, he launches himself onto the roof, landing just an arms breadth away.

Her head turns, beaming at the sight of him. "Chat." 

It takes his breath away. _This is so unfair._

"M'lady."

"What took you so long? You always were the early one." she teases.

"I'm sorry about that, I know I'm supposed come on time." he apologises, brushing a hand on the back of his head. "I won't be late next time. " _Because there won't be a next time._

Ladybug shrugs. "It's fine to be late sometimes. I know someone who’s always late when he comes to school." She blushes, getting up to her feet. "But he's a special case, so he gets a free pass from me."

_She brought up that guy she likes again. God, I wish I was him, for even just a day._

He waves his thoughts away. "So I take it that m'lady is not disappointed?"

"Of course not. I could never be disappointed in you." she shakes her head, smiling.

Chat Noir wishes that time would stop in that moment, that he could let this image of her be burnt into his mind. But time, uncaring as it is, never does, and his eyes flick to her ears.

"Then, I hope you can forgive me for what I'm about to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel like it, drop a comment to say what would happen next!

**Author's Note:**

> I've found joy in writing this ten-part tale, and I hope if you ever see the end of this, you'd find the same satisfaction as well.


End file.
